The Hunter
by sassiest-angel-in-the-garrison
Summary: In a world where crime runs rampant, Dean takes a stand as the superhero "The Hunter", to keep the streets of his hometown peaceful and danger free. However, balancing a real live job and a love interest while having this duty can prove to be a challenge.
1. Chapter 1

Dean, a firm-bodied, brown-haired male with a sleek hair-do, white button-up and black slacks, squinted at his laptop screen while clacking away at the keyboard, sending words flying across the blank document. It was like his senses were tunneled; he saw, heard, and felt nothing but the information that was filling up his computer. He was focused to the point where he was able to pick up his coffee cup with his right hand, and take a sip while typing with his left hand, without even making a typo. It was as if his fingers were born to type.

There was a knock at his office door, which he intentionally ignored, at first. After the second one, he sighed heavily.

"Come in," he muttered.

The man at the door, who was a large man with a stomach flopping over his beltline, with a bald head glimmering enough to blind someone, shuffled into the room and leaned onto Dean's desk.

"How's your column comin' along?" the man asked.

"I'll have it done by the end of the day, boss," said Dean, continuing to type without looking up at the man.

"You haven't been in lately," his boss stated. "Have you even started?"

"I said I'd have it to you by the end of the day, Mr. Blanton. Life's been a bitch and I'll starve myself today if it means turning this in, okay?"

Mr. Blanton glared at Dean, and when he realized Dean meant business, he grunted, and bumbled his way out of the room.

Dean sighed and continued to click away at his computer. He enjoyed his job, but with his busy life outside of work, he barely had time to keep up with his column about the supernatural. He had an interest in ghosts, werewolves, shape shifters, and anything that was deemed "paranormal". Ever since he was a child, he would find articles and books on ghost stories, and every night before bed, he would ask his father to read one to him. Any other child would be screaming in their sleep from the stories Dean would read, but to him, they were just gentle lullabies. Of course, however, his life outside of work was already somewhat supernatural.

There was more knocking on his door, and Dean took a deep breath.

"Why won't people just stop bothering me?" he asked, quietly.

The door started opening slowly, and the male at the door quietly slipped in. Dean looked up; there was no reason to huff and puff about the visitor. In fact, he smiled.

"Hey," said Dean. "It's Cas, right?"

"Yes," the bright-eyed, dark-haired man, said. "Uh, may I?"

He gestured to the chair beside Dean's desk, and Dean nodded a bit. Cas took the chair and moved it in front of Dean's desk. Once he planted himself in the chair, Dean couldn't help but smile at his bubbly personality. He wasn't very familiar with Cas (which was short for Castiel, but Cas sounded more normal), but he was always smiling around the office, and it always brightened Dean's day, no matter how down he was.

"How are you?" asked Dean. "How's your section coming along?"

"I'm almost done," said Cas. "Current events are boring, but if I just keep at it, then I can get it done in no time."

"Good for you," said Dean, with a smile. "Sometimes I wish I could be that dedicated. I just started my column today."

Castiel's smile drooped, turning into more of a worried frown. Dean chuckled and shook his head; Castiel's genuine concern for his progress in his career was almost flattering.

"Dude, relax," said Dean. "I'll get it done, even if it means staying all night."

Castiel's smile returned as he nodded at Dean.

"And I'm sure it will be brilliant," he said. "Just like all of your other ones."

Dean blushed; he couldn't help it. He had to look away from Cas to think clearly. He looked back up at him, unable to dispose of the sheepish smile.

"You really read them?" he asked.

"Of course!" said Cas. "It's the only one I read out of our paper. It's just so fascinating, all those ghosts and stuff. And you're such a gifted writer!"

"Oh stop," said Dean. "You're gonna make me blush again."

They smiled at each other as the room became quiet. Cas stood up, and Dean looked up at him as he rose.

"You're probably really busy," said Cas. "I'll let you go. Don't go too crazy, okay?"

"I'll try," said Dean, with a chuckle, as Cas made his way out of the door. Hopefully, for Dean's sake, he would get an uplifting visit like that again.

Dean didn't even take a break during the day. He typed away at his computer, filling the pages until he had nothing left to fill. After he finished, he had to take a few moments to himself before he went back to the grinder, and started editing it. It was his least favorite part about writing his columns, but because he was too close to the deadline, he figured editing it himself would be better than burdening their editor with one more article. He was kind of a grumpy old man who hated his job anyway, and Dean wasn't in the mood to deal with a hothead at the moment.

By the time he was halfway done with his revisions, which took him longer than the average writer because of his particular attitude about his writing, he laid his head against the desk, sighing heavily. There was a knock on his door, and then Cas slipped in with a white box in his hands. Dean looked up at the visitor, showing him a faint smile.

"Hey, Dean," he said. "I b-brought you some apple pie. I was eating out and I figured you might be hungry right now, and even though it's not healthy or substantial, I figured it would keep your spirits up as you finished your column.."

Dean smiled; he could see that Cas was nervous about this gesture. Dean stood up for what seemed to be the first time all day, and made his way over to Cas. He retrieved the box from Cas, as well as a black, plastic fork with a few napkins.

"Thanks, Cas," he said. "You really didn't have to do that."

"I sure did," he said, smiling. "Someone had to feed you, since you weren't going to."

Dean smiled, moving back to his desk and opening the container. He cut a bite off of the pie, and put it into his mouth, moaning at the succulent flavor of it.

"This is delicious," said Dean. "I love pie. Did you want some? I feel bad for taking this."

"No, no," said Cas. "I already had a slice at the restaurant. This one is all yours."

"How sweet of you."

Dean took another bite, allowing himself be distracted by the tasty treat in front of him, and taking a well deserved break from his column.

"Did you want some company while you finished?" asked Cas.

"Oh no," said Dean. "Go home and get some rest. We have another whole day of work tomorrow. You've done enough for me today."

"Are you sure? I could look over your column a second time for you, and you're gonna be here really late.

"This wouldn't be the first time, so don't worry 'bout me."

Cas started walking away, and turned back quickly with a concerned look upon his face.

"Are you absolutely sure? It's really no trouble for me."

"Yes. I'm fine, Cas. But thank you for the offer. You're a real sweetheart."

Cas blushed, and wished him good luck before he made his way out of the office.

It took him a few more hours, and a few more cups of coffee, but he was finally done with his column. He printed it out, clipped the papers together, and set in on his boss's desk before he made his way out of the office.

It was a beautifully brisk night, which made his walk home pleasant and gave him a few moments to himself. He smiled as he thought of Cas; The fact that he was finally talking to him was enough to leave a permanent smile on his face. It was surprising to him that Cas actually enjoyed his column on the paranormal things in the world, even though he seemed like a more normal, average guy. Dean assumed that about anyone who wasn't him, though, because of how different he was.

On this walk home, he passed by an alleyway that was a little noisier than it should have been. He walked down the way and looked down the corner, seeing two dark figures thrashing around a smaller, dark-haired male. After getting a good look at the victim's face, Dean's eyes widened.

"Dammit," he whispered. "I should have let him stay with me."

He went back behind the wall and looked around the area quickly, making sure no one was watching. Once he was in the clear, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He took one out and struck it against the book, throwing onto the ground and shrouding him in thick, gray smoke. When the smoke dissipated, he was in much different attire. From the neck down, he was covered with a black, skin-tight suit, with grey boots on his feet, grey gloves on his hands, and a black eye mask across his face. On his chest was a big, grey "H".

He moved around the corner and the muggers saw him, halting their assault on Cas.

"Isn't it passed your bedtime, fellas?" asked Dean.

"Scram, loser!" said one that was still holding onto Cas.

The other mugger started charging at Dean, and a knife materialized in Dean's hand, which he used to cut the man's arm as he stepped out of his way. The man groaned and held his arm, turning back at Dean for round two. He took out a gun, this time, and pointed it at Dean, and before he could even tap the trigger, the knife in Dean's hand disappeared and was replaced by a gun, which he fired at the man, sending a tranquilizer dart soaring right into his neck. The man collapsed, and his gun slid across the sidewalk and hit the wall on the other side.

Dean turned to the other man, who was shaking at the knees. Dean started approaching him, and the man backed away, with each of Dean's steps, dragging Cas along with him. Dean chuckled, continuing to walk toward the man.

"You better let him go," he said. "Or you'll learn just how deadly of a weapon I can create."

The man let go of Cas and ran in the opposite direction, dropping a wallet as he ran. Once he was out of sight, Cas slowly approached the wallet, sniffling as he bent down to pick it up. Dean followed him a bit, as if he was making sure he would be safe. Cas turned to him, and there was a large, swollen spot on his right eye. He also had a small cut on his left cheek, but other than that, the damage wasn't too bad.

"Thank you," he said. "Um…who are you, exactly?"

"I am The Hunter," said Dean. "I hunt down the injustice in this world, and not a moment too soon, for you."

Cas chuckled a bit.

"Yeah, I was close to being a goner."

"Are you alright?" asked Dean. "You look a bit battered. Maybe you should go to a hospital."

"Oh it's not that bad," said Cas. "I'll be fine."

Dean's heart was beating faster than he could think. Cas didn't know that his coworker was behind this mask, but his very presence still left Dean trembling. It's not every day that someone could say they saved their love interest from muggers in an alley. He couldn't tell him, though. Not now.

"Do you need me to take you home?" asked Dean.

"That's okay," said Cas. "My apartment building is actually right after this alleyway. Go figure, huh? If I only would have came home a few moments earlier…"

Dean wanted to smile at the joke, but the personality of his hero wouldn't allow it. He simply nodded.

"Alright, then. Be more careful, out here."

"Thanks," said Cas, as he jogged off to his apartment building. After he made it through the door, Dean sighed heavily and the skin-tight suit he was wearing materialized back into his white, button-up shirt with his black slacks.

"That was too close," he said, sounding out of breath.

"It sure was," said a voice from behind him.

Dean turned quickly, looking at the tall male with longer, brown hair, who had a gun pointed at his head.


	2. Chapter 2

The long-haired man had a smile across his face, but his eyes were. He towered over Dean, and seemed to be trying to pierce through him with his menacing gaze. Dean, despite the glare and the pointed gun from the tall, muscular man, started approaching him.

"Sam," he said. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You gave me an opening," said Sam. "So I'm here to take it."

"You followed me here?"

"I had nothing else going on."

Dean chuckled a bit and shook his head. Sam's smile faded away, and the grip on his pistol tightened. Dean looked back up, still smiling a bit.

"You're serious about killing me, aren't you?"

Sam didn't respond. He simply stayed where he was; that was enough of an answer for Dean. Dean continued to approach him, but Sam did nothing to halt his advance.

"Why? Why have you been so mad at me? Ever since I found out that I had these powers, you keep pushing me away."

"Because you got them," said Sam. "You were glorified by these powers. I got nothing. I deserved those genes, not you."

"Sam," said Dean, with despair in his voice. "You got to go to college. You got the best education out there, and you're the smartest person I know. You have a great job, lots of money, and the capacity to live a normal life."

"But it's nothing compared to what you have. If you were to publicize yourself, you would be loved by everyone. No one loves the geeky, computer science major who plays with laptops all day."

"You really don't understand, Sam. I really don't—"

"Oh enough. I don't want to have this conversation right now. I'll give you what you deserve, and by then, it'll be when you actually have something to lose."

Sam turned away and started walking out of the alley. Dean watched as he walked away, holding his head down as the sound of Sam's footsteps faded away. Dean started walking back down the street, shaking his head as he slowly made his way down it.

"Oh, Sam," he said quietly. "You don't want these powers."

The next morning, Dean stumbled out of his apartment with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, while he was buttoning up his shirt and sliding a pair of black, shiny shoes onto his feet. He managed to do all of this with only one hand, as well, while his other hand was holding his briefcase. He flew down the stairs and burst out the front door, starting to walk quickly down the street, taking bites out of his toast as he did. It wasn't often that this happened, but his previous night left him bothered as he tried to sleep, lying in bed with his eyes open until the early hours of the morning. Sam's anger was bothering him, and it still was as he stormed down the street to the office. He couldn't understand why anyone would want the responsibility he had.

He shoved the door open to his office building and hurried by the people in their cubicles, who watched him curiously as he passed by. He looked at none of them. He didn't even greet his boss as he passed his desk, and went into his own office and shut the door. He made his way to the desk and set his briefcase down. Once he sat at his desk, he took a deep breath and started rubbing his head.

Shortly after, his door opened and his boss came bumbling in.

"You're late," he said.

"By fifteen minutes," said Dean. "The most I've ever been late is five minutes. Cut me some slack, I had a rough night."

"Don't let it happen again," he said. "Oh, and your column was decent. It would have been better if you started earlier."

He shuffled out of Dean's office and shut the door behind him. Dean rolled his eyes as he opened up his laptop.

"You try fighting criminals every night," Dean said under his breath.

After booting up his computer, he opened his web browser and started looking up all things supernatural. When he didn't know what to contribute to his column, he would aimlessly look for anything he could find online, and use it as an inspiration for his next assignment. Sometimes he would pretend that he needed to thoroughly research his subject for the column, so that way all he could do at work was read up on more paranormal occurrences. He knew enough about the subject, so that was his way of beating the system.

His door opened and Cas slipped in smiling at Dean brightly. Dean mirrored the smile, and was more than happy to see his face as it invaded his office.

"Don't you have work you ought to be doin'?" asked Dean.

"Yep," said Cas. "I saw you came in a bit late, so I got curious."

"Long night."

Cas chuckled and moved behind Dean, peeking over his shoulder at the contents on his computer.

"Working hard, I see. How much research do you need for each of your columns?"

"Keep a secret?"

Cas nodded. Dean leaned in a bit, and brought his voice down to a whisper.

"I don't do any research. It's all from my head. I just do this so it looks like I'm working."

Cas moved his head back with a wide smile on his face.

"Such a rebel," said Cas.

"Shh," said Dean. "Just between us, okay?"

"Yes of course."

There was a bit of an awkward silence as Dean continued with his "research", and Cas stood there fiddling with a pen on Dean's desk. Dean watched as he fumbled around with it, and then looked up at Castiel's face. He radiated anxiety.

"You feelin' okay?" asked Dean, with a chuckle.

"If I said that I saw a man who looked a lot like you," he began. "Dressed in tights, with unbelievable powers, who saved me from some muggers in an alley, assuming it was you, would that be weird?"

Dean's heart stopped for a moment. At first, he was afraid that Cas knew. He didn't want Cas thinking that he was some freak who could create guns out of nowhere, but Cas was only suspicious. Dean didn't have the best disguise anyway, so he should have seen it coming.

To cover up the panic he felt, he creased his eyebrows and chuckled a bit.

"Maybe a bit," he said. "He saved you? Wow. Good man.

"Yeah he did," said Cas, shaking his head. "Sorry, I just…nevermind. I actually have something to ask you, and it's not weird this time, well, maybe it is, but not as weird as—"

"Spit it out, Cas."

"I sing in a band and I was wondering if you'd come to our gig tomorrow night."

Dean smiled, looking into Castiel's eyes. He could see how desperately he wanted him to say yes. Dean was more than flattered that Cas asked him to do this, despite their few interactions before that moment. However, Dean wouldn't let this opportunity pass him.

"You're in a band?" Dean asked. "What kind of music do you guys play?"

"We're a punk rock band," he said.

Dean couldn't help himself; he starting laughing. Cas looked worried, as if Dean was mocking him. He started gripping the pen tighter and playing with it more.

"Oh God, Cas," he said, as his laughter subsided. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to seem offensive. You just don't look like a punk rocker at all."

"That's just my game face for work. And we're not like, super hardcore or anything. It's not that surprising, is it?"

"Just a bit, I guess. But yeah, I'll definitely come out to your gig. Just uh…"

Dean took an index card off of his desk and wrote his phone number on it, holding it in front of Cas after he wrote it.

"Let me know where it is, and I'll be there."

Cas let his giddiness take over his expression as he took the card from Dean. He looked back to Dean before shot him a wink and left his office. Dean smiled after his door closed, chuckling to himself.

"I can't wait," he said.

Dean managed to get out of work at a normal time that day, since he wasn't on a time crunch. He took his leisurely walk back to his apartment building, waking up the stairs with some pep in his step when he got there, and strolled into his room for a relaxing night to himself. He would normally change into some more comfortable clothing, which was usually a t-shirt and some pajama pants, and fix himself a simple dinner, and relax in front of the TV. It wasn't all that exciting, but he usually had nothing better to do.

During his dinner, a loud ensemble of crashing and other noises came from the alley outside of his window, and he peered out of it to see what the source was. When he couldn't find it, he sighed, and walked away from the window.

"Can't you people see that I'm trying to have time to myself?" he asked himself.

Letting his curiosity and desire to help get the better of him, he slipped on some shoes and walked downstairs and out into the alley. He slowly made his way around the corner, looking all around him to find the source. He made it out of the alley through the only other exit, and looked around for any suspicious activity. When he didn't see anything, he started walking back to his building.

He stopped suddenly and turned when he heard a shriek down the road. In the distance, he saw a woman with bright blond hair struggling against an indistinguishable figure. He went back behind the alley wall, took out his book of matches, struck one, and threw it on the ground, running out of the think black smoke, in his hero attire, toward the woman in distress. As he got closer and the foe became more visible, he creased his brow in confusion.

"A robot?" he asked quietly to himself.

He conjured a revolver, which appeared in his hand with a quick shroud of grey smoke, aiming precisely at the machine's head, and firing. It created enough force and astonishment to make it stumble backward and let go of the woman, who turned to Dean with wide eyes, and remained where she was, as if she was paralyzed.

"Run!" Dean exclaimed, gruffly.

She nodded and jogged as fast as her stilettos and miniskirt would allow her, leaving Dean, The Hunter, to face his new enemy. The robot looked like a mannequin in a department store's window, but made of glistening metal. It looked right at Dean, with its faceless expression, and started charging.

Dean's gun disappeared and a long, metal rod took its place, and with heavy force, he hit the side of its head, right where the temple would be. It stumbled a bit, but recovered fast and shoved Dean across the street with indescribable force. The push sent him across the road, causing cars to spin out and slam on their brakes, and made him crash through a glass wall in the building he collided into. He struggled as he tried to recover, and once he was able to see, he saw the robot storming through the street, blocking cars with its bare hands. Dean scrambled to get up, realizing that the robot was getting too close.

"This thing just won't give up," said Dean.

Dean swung at the robot's head again, but it ducked under the blow, and jabbed at Dean's stomach. Dean backed away quickly before the fist could collide with his abdomen, and took another swing at the robot's head with his metal pole. The robot clasped it between his hands, and bent it in Dean's direction. Dean's eyes widened, and he chuckled a bit.

"Show off," he said.

His pole disappeared and a katana took its place, which he used to take slashes at the robot. For a hunk of metal, it was fairly quick, though, dodging each of Dean's attacks. Dean took a leap backward into the alley behind him, trying to steer the machine away from causing more destruction on the street.

As the robot approached him, his hand detached, folded back, and revealed a small opening inside. From that opening, it started firing bullets, which Dean blocked with his quick reflexes, using his katana to protect himself from the firing.

"Just like the movies," said Dean, with a smile.

He moved closer and closer to the robot as he blocked the bullets from coming, and once he was in close proximity to the robot, he sliced the gun attachment off of its arm, and with elegant style, spun around and sliced the head off the robot, which seemed to deactivate the rest of it. It slumped to the ground and fell flat, lying limp on the cold, hard ground.

Dean's weapon disappeared, and he looked down at the robot as his skin-tight suit morphed back into his pajamas that he was previously wearing.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he asked


End file.
